Detachment
by Jamie552
Summary: Dean was willing to give up his own well-being in a heart beat…he wouldn’t give up his family’s well-being for anything. One-shot. Tag to "Crossroad Blues".


**Author's Note:** So this idea has been driving my muse mental for the last few days. I happened to catch a re-run of Crossroad Blues a little while ago, and the ending of that episode always struck a cord. In typical Winchester fashion, when Sam asks Dean if he considered agreeing to the deal the demon offered him, Dean avoids the question...crankin' that music way up. I always wondered what Sam's reaction would be to that. Here's my take! Hope you like it.

**Spoilers:** Crossroad Blues (Just in case)

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Supernatural or it's characters...even after asking for Dean at Christmas, AND wishing for him when I blew out the candles on my most recent birthday cake. Ah well. Dean (and Sammy too) belong to Eric Kripke.

****************

The sudden explosion of music was loud enough to blast the concern, as well as any other coherent thoughts, right out of Sam's head, and the younger Winchester recognized the act for exactly what it was.

It was an escape.

_When you were trappin' that demon…you weren't…I mean, it was all a trick, right?_

_You never considered actually…makin' that deal, right?_

The silence that had filled the car was as damning as any response Dean could've ever given. With his grip tightening on the steering wheel and a darkness entering into his eyes, Dean had leaned forward and turned up the radio, effectively erasing any possibility for further conversation.

Sam's breath immediately caught in his chest and a thousand or more emotions suddenly pulsed through his blood, making him feel sick to his stomach. He considered for a moment snapping the radio off and forcing Dean to talk, but what good would it possibly do? He couldn't get angry at for Dean refusing to answer, because in true Winchester fashion, he'd gotten all the confirmation he needed from the intense quiet that had almost suffocated him.

Dean's eyes had already told Sam everything he _didn't _want to know.

As Dean's eyes usually did.

Sam tried to picture it in his mind's eye; the darkened crossroads…an unnaturally beautiful woman in a black dress, her eyes flashing red for the shortest instant…Dean standing at the center of it all, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket…his face, as it usually was when it came to their dad, twisted and heartbroken. The very thought of it made Sam have to swallow bile and fury at the same time.

When the brothers had been growing up, Sam had never noticed it. Maybe it was because he hadn't had the time; they had always spent their time studying old books of lore and legend, comparing different types of firearms—shotguns or handguns—loading them and disassembling them for cleaning so often that they had eventually started racing to see who could do it the best in the shortest amount of time.

Dean had always been the calm, cool and collected older brother…the one with all the answers, the one who was never scared or nervous, the one person in Sam's world that could stand up to absolutely anything.

Sam had never noticed. Dean was willing to give up his own well-being in a heart beat…he wouldn't give up his family's well-being for anything.

There were so many memories of his older brother that Sam cherished, memories that he'd never voiced out loud but protected fiercely…

Dean carefully and gently pulling Sam's first loose tooth after a kid at school had freaked him out by saying he'd probably swallow it with his food. Dean's smiling face as he watched Sam slip on their dad's old leather jacket—now Dean's—the sleeves hanging off of his short arms, the jacket itself going down past his knees. Dean's encouraging but strong voice as Sam struggled, muscles quivering, through the very last few of his one hundred push-ups. Dean flipping out in the passenger seat the very first time Sam ever drove the Impala. _Jesus Christ, Sammy, the brakes!_

For a moment, Sam was five again, grinning smugly at the neighborhood bully from behind his big brother's back.

Why couldn't Dean see what Sam saw?

They drove like that for a while, the music the only sound in the car besides the ever present rumble of the engine—the sound that could practically out-bass any song ever written. The familiar vibration up through his seat was usually a comforting feeling for Sam, a reminder that he was in the car with his brother exactly where he was supposed to be…a reminder that they were home.

But at that moment, the Impala's rumble and familiar vibration did nothing but continue the pitching and reeling feeling in Sam's stomach.

He tried swallowing again but the bile wouldn't go away.

And his stomach, again, lurched violently. "Pull over."

Dean, seeming to snap out of his reverie, looked over at him with startled eyes. "What?"

"Pull over now." Sam was already twisting around, fumbling with the door handle, fighting like hell to get it open.

Dean's eyes only got wider. "Jesus, Sam-" He grabbed the back of Sam's jacket as he slammed on the brakes, steering the car onto the gravel shoulder of the back road. "Trying to kill yourself? Just wait till I-"

Sam yanked himself free and pushed the door open, stumbling out onto the gravel before the car had even come to a complete stop. With his mind hardly registering the stones digging into his hands or ripping into the knees of his jeans, he fell to his knees and retched, throwing up the contents of his stomach.

The throaty rumble of the Impala cut off quickly, the sound replaced by the familiar creaking of hinges as Dean threw open the driver's door, practically sliding across the hood of the car in a scramble to get to his brother's side.

Sam _felt_ Dean crouch down beside him, his boots crunching down on the gravel, his hand settling carefully on Sam's still heaving back.

Sam's eyes were watering, burning, his stomach contracting and clenching painfully as the retching became dry heaves.

A cold breeze blew over them but neither one really felt it; Sam was too mortified and Dean was far too concerned, worry and anxiousness deepening the frown that was still on his face. "Get it all out, Sammy." He said quietly, pressing his fingers roughly into Sam's jacket.

After what felt like an eternity to Sam, the upheaval in his stomach started to fade, the tell-tale burning in the back of his throat started to disappear. Finally forcing his eyes open, Sam swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and took a deep breath.

Dean took a deep breath as well. "Feel better?"

There was a definite edge to his brother's voice and Sam involuntarily flinched, raking a shaky hand through his hair. "Yeah."

"You wanna tell me what the hell _that_ was?"

He gave a small shrug. "Just…didn't feel good."

"Yeah, I can see that."

In an almost pained movement, Sam straightened up and slowly moved back towards the car; immediately, he leaned heavily against the passenger door, tilting his head back and taking another deep breath. He heard Dean stand up as well and sensed him move closer. He could picture Dean easily, standing in front of him with his arms folded across his chest, a serious glare bred entirely from worry and confusion.

Swallowing hard, Sam muttered, "Dean, I'm fine."

"Yeah, I'm gonna call bullcrap on _that_ one."

"I am, I'm fine."

"What the hell's wrong with you? Are you getting sick?" Dean's voice was razor sharp and it forced Sam to open his eyes; it was the same tone of voice their dad had always used, commanding and jagged, demanding acknowledgement and honesty. As a kid it had always sent shivers down Sam's spine when coming from their dad, but coming from Dean, it somehow seemed even _more_ intimidating.

The older hunter had adopted it perfectly, adding his very own edge, and Sam knew instantly that he would never get away with any lie he tried to tell.

Dean knew him far too well.

"I don't know, man."

"You don't know?"

Sam sighed, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders at the same time. "Just tired I guess."

"People who are just _tired_ don't throw up, Sammy."

"Yeah, I know that."

Any heat or anger that had been in Dean's face instantly cooled. Uncrossing his arms, he took a few careful steps forward and moved to stand beside Sam, also leaning back against the car. Even though the road was dark, Sam could sense the shift in his brother—he was worried. "So what's up."

Sam felt his whole body tense and he tried hard to unclench the fists he hadn't even realized he'd made. Clearing his throat quietly, he said, "You never answered me."

And once again, Sam sensed the shift; Dean's emotional defenses went up immediately. "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Yes, you do."

Dean sighed, lowering his head and focusing his eyes on the dark asphalt of the road which was still glistening from the rain that had fallen earlier that night.

Sam kept his eyes on his older brother's profile, noticing the visible slump in Dean's shoulders. It was a look he'd seen a thousand times; it was Dean's way of saying '_don't make me say it out loud'_. It was Dean's way of protecting Sam from harsh truths, and even though it got more and more irritating the older Sam got, he couldn't help but be thankful.

"The demon made you that offer and you thought about takin' it…didn't you?"

The silence that followed after Sam's words was possibly the loudest silence he'd ever experienced. Dean hardly moved; the only indication he'd had even heard was the slight change in his stance. He moved himself and stood a little taller.

Eventually, Dean asked quietly, "You don't want him back?"

Sam couldn't do anything but swallow hard, his eyes still focused on the side of Dean's face. There was a flood of emotion building in the younger man's chest and he found himself clenching his hands into fists again. "It shouldn't have happened, Sam, it wasn't natural-"

"And you think makin' deals with a demon _yourself_ is somehow _better_?"

"At least it's something."

"And what's _that_ mean?"

Dean sighed again. "There's no way to live with this, Sammy." He audibly swallowed. "Dad…wherever he is right now…that red-eyed bitch saying all that stuff-"

"Demons lie, Dean. _I_ told you that earlier, _you've_ been tellin' me that for years, _Dad_ told us that-"

"You really think she was lyin'? Hmm?" When Sam didn't answer, Dean breathed a bitter laugh and shook his head, looking back down to the road. "No, she wasn't lying. She meant every damn thing she said."

"Dean-"

"You've been thinkin' it too, Sam, I know you have." Dean looked over at him, his eyes slightly glazed in the moonlight; Sam somehow managed to _just_ keep that flood of emotion in his chest when he spotted the single tear, dangling precariously from Dean's lower eyelashes.

But only _just._

"Dad's gone…and it's my fault. All this crap, it's because of me. He should've just let me die-"

"Don't say that." Sam snapped, unable to stop his eyes from narrowing; Dean's only response was to look away, sniffling gently. "Don't you _ever_ say that again."

Sam was angry.

No.

Sam was _furious._

"You think that would've made things better? Taking the contract, bringing Dad back, and then what? Ten years and then _you're_ gone? That's _not_ the solution-"

"Then what _is_?" Dean's anger was quickly becoming just as impressive as Sam's. "What's the answer, Sam?"

"_Moving on."_

Dean laughed bitterly again and Sam almost flinched at the harshness of it. "_Moving on_? I can't do that."

Swallowing hard, Sam pushed himself from the side of the car and moved to stand in front of his brother. He grabbed the proverbial bull by the horns and took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm going to tell you something, and dammit, you better listen-" Dean's head snapped up and his eyes narrowed, but Sam plowed on, ignoring the dagger stare. "After Jess died, you told me for _months_ that it wasn't my fault—I couldn't have stopped it, I didn't know it was gonna happen—You told me that I wasn't to blame for any of it, that there was nothing I could've done. Now I'm gonna say the same thing to you. The way things happened with dad? Dean, there was _nothing you could've done._ If anyone was in any kinda position to stop it from happening, it was _me_."

Dean shook his head, the dagger stare still firmly in place. "Sam-"

"_You_ were asleep, _I_ was awake. I mean, hell, _I'm_ the one that got him everything he needed to summon the damn demon in the first place." The anger pouring out of Sam was unstoppable, and tears sprung to his eyes before he could even realize it was happening. He kept on going. "I gave him what he needed, I watched him plan it and I didn't even see it. So if _anyone_ should be makin' deals, it's me-"

"Sam!"

Dean's loud and commanding bark made Sam jump, startled him out of his tearful tirade. He made no effort to wipe the moisture away from his cheeks, too far gone to care about it.

Dean was staring at him.

In about a second and a half, Sam read every single emotion that crossed Dean's face—anger, fear, sadness, intense regret…and on top of everything else, fierce protectiveness. Dean's animalistic, primal older brother mask slipped into place and it was as clear to Sam as it ever could be.

Even though he would never admit it out loud, Sam could see it in his brother's eyes.

Sam's words had shaken him. They'd completely terrified him.

Sam didn't need Dean to say anything out loud, he could already see it. His brother's voice filled his mind as they locked eyes—_I don't want you talkin' about crap like that, Sammy. I've already lost dad, you're all I've got, I can't lose you, too—_Sam _knew_ that's what Dean was thinking, because Sam had thought the very same thing only a few hours before…and he _had _been thinking that very same thing ever since.

The difference now was that there was no loud hard rock to be turned up to fill the silence. There was no constant rumbling of the familiar engine. There was no window, wide open, letting in a furious flow of air as the car tore down the darkened road.

There was only them. Two brothers, standing there, staring at each other.

"You wanna know something weird?" Sam asked thickly, working hard to turn away. "I remember _every single time_ you've called me selfish since I was fourteen."

Dean relaxed his face and said, "Come on, man-"

"You were _always_ right."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"As horrible as this sounds, I can live without dad. I miss him, but I learned how to do it a long time ago, Dean." Another tear fell. "But I never learned how to live without you. Never figured it out." Sam shrugged, feeling disgusted with himself. He couldn't make himself meet Dean's eyes again. He was afraid of what he'd see. "I missed you from the moment I got on that bus…until the moment you showed up at Stanford. And the idea of bein' without you again? Even for a little bit? It scares the hell outta me."

An awkwardness followed Sam's words and he kept his back to the Impala, where he knew Dean was still standing. Sam was waiting for the eventual explosion; the rage that, rightly so, would accompany such a horrible confession about their dad.

But the explosion never came.

What he got instead was Dean's uncharacteristically small voice. "Sammy?"

Dean sounded completely broken, and he was asking—in his own way—for Sam to turn around. After another steadying breath, Sam turned.

Dean wasn't crying.

But the hug that Sam suddenly found himself in was just as jarring, and just as emotional.

The Winchester brothers didn't hug very often. It wasn't that they weren't affectionate when it mattered, and it wasn't that they didn't _want_ to be affectionate. But being raised the way they had, had driven into them the importance of detachment.

When they were kids, if Sam had a nightmare, he wouldn't crawl into Dean's bed until long after their dad had fallen asleep. Whenever Sam had tripped and scraped his knee, Dean always comforted him in whispers and quiet conversation.

It was the way of their world.

Detachment.

This was the reason why Sam returned _that_ embrace so fiercely.

It lasted only a moment before the two of them mutually pulled away, Dean still grasping the arms of Sam's jacket tightly in his fingers.

"I need you to promise me something, Dean."

Dean raised his eyes and met Sam's gaze; he cleared his throat. "What?"

"No demons. No deals. _Ever_."

Giving the material of Sam's jacket a tight squeeze, Dean eventually nodded, speaking in a rough voice. "Yeah. Ok, Sammy."

It was a promise he wouldn't even remember making in only a few months time.


End file.
